Prisoner of War
by Srelex
Summary: The story of a POW clone commando and his relationship with a Separatist officer.


Clone commando RC-14566, known to his comrades as 'Shrap', panted and struggled for air as he made his way through the thick, tangled foliage, cuts all over his chest spewing blood, his hair filled with dirt and leaves. He had abandoned his armour; it slowed him down, and anyway it was filled with shrapnel and was nothing more than a few pieces of metal. His head was filled with feelings of anger, fear, confusion, and sadness.

He recalled what had happened mere hours ago. He, along with the rest of his squad, had been instructed to provide support and remain in reserves for an attack on this desolate world, so obscure that he'd forgotten the name. Apparently, the Confederacy had seized the planet and constructed a droid foundry on it; and now eliminating droid factories was amongst the highest priorities of the GAR. If they left the factories alone, the Separatists would just keep on churning out droids until the Republic was overwhelmed.

He remembered the assault cruiser he was on leaving hyperspace above the mountainous planet. The CIS seemed to have no defences in space. Strangely careless, but that was good. He remembered the cruiser entering the atmosphere, and he remembered being on one of the LAATs that it had released, swooping down on the pine forests and mountains that covered the planet. They had eliminated a small outpost manned by less than a dozen battle droids from the air with ease; then the assault cruisers set down and began unloading walkers and other armour. The droid factory was mostly underground, so orbital bombardment would do no good; the only option was to enter it and destroy it from within.

Shrap and his squad had been left at base camp on standby, in case they were needed. They had watched the force plough its way through the pine forest, thinking that nothing could go wrong.

Then suddenly swarms of deadly Vulture droids and tri-droids had swooped out of nowhere, blasting every LAAT out of the sky. The grounded V-wings and ARC-17Os were annihilated before their pilots could reach them. Once all their air support was down, HMP droid gunships swooped in from behind the nearby mountains, and began pounding the force with hails of concussion missiles that sent clones and vehicles flying, and EMP bombs that disabled vehicles and equipment alike. Shrap had watched with horror as the force was destroyed.

Then finally he and his comrades began to react and began sprinting for the nearby forest for shelter, but then Shrap presumed a gunship had let off a missile at base camp, because then was a concussion, and he had a feeling of being thrown off the ground and into the air, and a sensation of semi-consciousness.

He and his team were sent flying into the trees. Shrap was lucky; the branches of the trees slowed his fall. The rest of his teammates, however, landed on top of a moss-covered boulder amongst the trees, their armour and bones shattering. Shrap, winded, confused, and suffering from shellshock, lay there on the leafy ground, gazing at the burning remains of base camp and the assault cruiser. Masses of AAT tanks, Hailfire droids, Dwarf Spider Droids, and super battle droids marched into the clearing where base camp and the assault cruisers used to be, mopping up any survivors. Thankfully, they past Shrap without a second glance, assuming he was dead.

Once the droid forces had left, satisfied that not one clone had survived, Shrap had picked himself up. His armour was ruined by the blast and fall, so he removed it, but left it in a pile at the foot of a tree, in case he needed to come back for it. His blaster rifle was also ruined by the fall.

And that was how Shrap was the last survivor of a mighty assault force, alone in the middle of a forest, on a world infested with Confederate armies, with no armour or weaponry. He felt a need to just stand there and give himself up to the droids, seeing as there was now nothing left in the world for him. The Holonet was definitely not going to report this humiliating victory.

Shrap burst through some bushes, and suddenly found himself on the very edge of a dizziness-inducing cliff, hundreds of feet tall. It was overlooking a vast plain of grass, with a small, square metal building with the CIS insignia painted on it, and with Core Ships and C-9979 landing craft settled near the forest surrounding most of the plain. The building was presumably the entrance to the droid foundry. Surrounding it were vast masses of battle droids, super and normal, so many that they looked like silver or red lakes. In between the infantry were divisions of tanks, Trade Federation Multi Troop Transports, spider droids, immense tripod tri-droids, and other myriad variants of vehicle.

Thousands of battle droids.

Tens of thousands.

_Hundreds of thousands. _

Feeling dizzy, Shrap took a step back, away from the cliff edge. He saw faintly, before the foremost mass of infantry droids, a white, skeletal figure with a cape, accompanied by tall droids with staff. Shrap recognised that figure instantly.

_Grievous. _

Grievous. The greatest military mind of the CIS. Jedi-killer. Murderer. And yet, from what Shrap had heard and researched, he had quite a noble background.

He cursed his bad luck. If only his weapon hadn't broken, he would have been able to change it to sniper rifle configuration and he would have been able to take out that cyborg monstrosity. He would have alerted the entire droid army to his presence, of course, but that would be a sacrifice for the good of the Republic.

Grievous seemed to be inspecting the droid army. Shrap stood there on the cliff, unnoticed, for several minutes, before Grievous finally boarded a Sheathipede-class shuttle near where the other transports had landed. The engines of the beetle-like craft ignited and it ascended into the overcast sky, leaving a trail of exhaust.

Shrap took in a deep breath, took a step back, and then turned around, only to find himself looking into the twin barrels of a wrist-blaster of a B2 super battle droid. Standing behind it was a squad of about ten super battle droids, standing stationary amongst the trees, looking strange amongst the tangled and natural undergrowth.

"Hands up." Grated the droid emotionlessly. Slowly, Shrap raised his hands. No useless heroics here. He was outnumbered and outgunned, with no armour or weaponry.

"Get a move on." The droid grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him forwards. Covered by eleven wrist-blasters, Shrap was forced-marched through the trees. Occasionally the droids would push him forward violently, sending him flying down on his face into the leafy, muddy ground.

After some time of being marched through the forest, he was finally forced onto a small dirt path snaking through the forest. Waiting on this section of the path was a trio of AATs, a Heavy Artillery Gun mortar tank that looked like a bulkier version of an AAT, and a PAC without the droid storage rack on the rear section. Standing around these vehicles were some battle droids, and in the distance Shrap could hear the whine of STAPs.

The super battle droids pushed him up to a battle droid commander with yellow markings, standing in the middle of a path beside one of the tanks.

"We found him in sector nine-alpha-zero." Grated one of the droids.

"We will take him to camp one. The commander will know what to do with him." Replied the droid commander. He paused for a moment, and looked at Shrap. Somehow, the way the automaton looked at him made him shiver. Perhaps it was because he was helpless, alone, surrounded by deadly droids willing to kill him instantly, and the fact that he was without armour or weapons. "Knock him un-conscious for the journey." Grated the commander droid. One of the supers promptly swatted him, sending him flying to the gravely path. As he lost conscious, he heard the computerised voice of the commander: "Organics. Why they go down so easily is beyond me…"

With a groan Shrap opened his eyes. His vision quickly returned to normal, but there was an aching pain in his head.

He was tied to a chair in the middle of a bare, completely featureless metal chamber. Standing in front of him was a statuesque, handsome human with jet-black hair, just slightly taller than he was. He wore a tight blue jumpsuit with the CIS insignia imprinted on the upper sleeve, and flanking him were two super battle droids.

"Well, well, well." He said in a Corellian drawl that felt oddly welcoming. "A clone commando."

"How do you…" began Shrap. His voice was croaky and even speaking was painful.

"Easy to tell, isn't it? You're clever than the average clone. Instead of wearing those bulky armour suits all you clones insist on having, you choose the lightweight option. Considering you're the sole survivor of the so-called 'attack force' the Republic sent here, that's a wise decision." He paused. "Thank your lucky stars Grievous just left. If he was here he'd have just killed you on the spot. But I'm kinder than that killing machine. I'm giving you a chance. You clones have access to…ah…information, is that not so?"

"We are sometimes given details of any upcoming campaigns." Said Shrap. He then cursed himself silently. How could he be so stupid to tell him that?

"Aha! You see, despite the fact that we outnumber your little clone army billions to one…"

"_Billions_? Impossible."

The Separatist officer laughed. "You underestimate the power of Geonosian industrial plants. You Republic fools think that you've disabled most of them with your fancy commandos and ARCs or whatever, but believe me, we have more of them than you can even imagine." He laughed again. "I'm deviating, aren't I? Right, straight to the point. Tell us everything you know…and by that I mean strategically important information, not what colour you paint your armour. If you do that, we'll keep you here in a Prisoner of War camp, instead of killing you, and if the Republic's willing we'll perhaps exchange you for something. Aren't we kind? Right, spill the beans."

"I…I…" Shrap thought quickly. The Separatist officer was either telling the truth and they would spare him if he told them anything, or he was lying and they would kill him. However, he knew some sensitive information, and if he revealed it to the Confederacy they would surely gain the advantage.

"Oh, and I forgot," said the officer, interrupting Shrap's thoughts. "My name's Commander Dak Lanmek. And to be frank, you're taking too long. Perhaps these two hunks of metal might accelerate you a bit." He nodded to one of the battle droids. Promptly, it rose it's arm and smashed it into the side of his jaw, sending one of his teeth flying out of his mouth. Shrap immediately felt blood flood his mouth, and spat it out onto the silver surface of the droid.

"Now, tell us something at least, or I'll tell it to do that again. Harder." Snapped Lanmek.

"No." said Shrap.

"Okay then, you asked for it." Snarled Lanmek. Once again the droid hit him, and this time the pain was almost unbearable. Shrap spat more blood onto the droid, and his rear teeth felt loose.

"And that ain't the end of it." Continued Lanmek. "You see…we have ways of making clones talk." He nodded, and a standard battle droid came from behind Shrap's chair, carrying an electro-staff, the type used by Grievous's droid bodyguards. Lanmek snatched from the droid, activated it, and promptly drove it into Shrap's chest, burning through his vest. Electricity surged through his body, and he screamed out loud in pain. It felt like he was being fried alive, and very quickly the stench of burning flesh filled the room.

Lanmek once again drove the staff into Shrap, setting his vest alight. Shrap screamed as his vest burnt, and Lanmek paused before nodding. The battle droid that had handed him the staff promptly appeared with a fire extinguisher, and sprayed it all over Shrap. The freezing cold water was perhaps even worse than the electro-staff.

Soaked and electrocuted, Shrap could barely move. "'Ow about now?" said Lanmek, looming over him.

"I…I…" groaned Shrap.

"Too slow." Said Lanmek, and nodded to the second super battle droid. The hulking automaton promptly walked over to him and began twisting his arm. There was a crack and Shrap screamed.

"Okay! Okay!" he screamed. "Stop it! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Lanmek's eyes widened.

"Finally we get something." He grinned. He nodded to the battle droid again and it strapped a small, flat, rectangular device to his arm. "Lie detector." Said Lanmek. "If you're gonna tell us poodoo, it'll beep."

"Okay, okay," said Shrap, gasping for breath. Pain was still dominating his body. "First of all, we're planning to send commandos to sabotage a droid factory on Sad'des XI."

"Note that." Said Lanmek to one of the droids.

"Secondly, we're planning to send a contingent to that planet…you know, where they made droidekas…"

"Colla IV." Said Lanmek.

"Yeah, there." Groaned Shrap. "And thirdly…more commandos to Hypori. That's it."

"Why, thank you." Beamed Lanmek. "And I'm gonna keep my promise. Welcome to Camp Alpha-six."

The battle droids untied him from the chair and guided him to a door in the other side of the chamber. They opened it, and Shrap stepped out into a walled camp, dotted with various buildings. In the corner of the camp was a large transmitter dish, and guard towers manned by battle droids were dotted along the wall. Dwarf spider droids were also patrolling the camp. Parked in a corner was a stationary AAT, its repulsors humming.

In the centre of the camp, a pair of Gossams, clad in CIS prisoner's uniform, stood around, looking weary and frail. They weren't even talking to each other.

"Who are those?" asked Shrap, indicating the Gossams.

"Traitors." Said Lanmek. "They told the Republic about an attack we were planning on Alderaan. Thanks to them we've had to call it off. Grievous told me to execute them, but I've got a kinder soul than that monstrosity." The droids and Lanmek then began to push Shrap out. Looking over his shoulder, Shrap saw that they had just exited a small, metal, cube-shaped building the size of a shed. Presumably that interrogation chamber was the entire interior.

"You think Grievous is a monstrosity?" said Shrap, hoping to draw Lanmek into conversation.

"Everyone in the Confederacy does." Said Lanmek. "Now shaddup." He violently pushed Shrap forward, then stopped and began to walk away.

"What am I supposed to do?" called Shrap after him.

"I don't know. Lounge around in the mud for all I care." Called back Lanmek.

The weeks passed. Shrap was generally confined to the POW camp, which he learned was on a mountain ledge, where he was most often bored and hungry. The only food the droids at the camp would give him was disgusting gruel, and sometimes they would completely ignore him. As time went by, Shrap became more and more confident that the Republic had abandoned him. For all he knew it could have lost the war, given that Lanmek refused him to access the Holonet. As the weeks became months, Shrap learned to accept his existence, and he was surprised when one day Lanmek gave him a Dejarik board to entertain himself with. Shrap noticed that Lanmek seemed to have an affinity for him, perhaps even respect. He was beginning to forget the torture; indeed, he was beginning to forget the propaganda about all Separatists being brutal monsters that had been pumped into him. Lanmek seemed a thoroughly respectable person, now that he had got to know him.

However, one day, roughly three months after Shrap's capture and torture, that was all to change.

It was afternoon. The sky was overcast and Shrap was sitting down on the muddy floor of the camp, playing Dejarik with one of the Gossam prisoners. Since his capture, Shrap's physical appearance had altered drastically; he had grown a beard and his hair colour had changed. When he suddenly heard Commander Lanmek's voice, he looked up to see Lanmek slowly escorting an extravagantly dressed Neimoidian through the camp, accompanied by battle droids.

"Who are these?" demanded the Neimoidian, pointing accusingly at the Gossams, who were sat down on the ground, playing Dejarik with stones as pieces and a bit of metal as a board.

"Gossam traitors." Explained Lanmek. "I thought…" The Neimodian barked something in a language Shrap couldn't recognise and his escorting battle droids rose their blasters and shot the Gossams. Shrap watched as one-by-one they fell, puddles of blood forming around them.

"Commander, as you know it is protocol to kill traitors." Snarled the Neimoidian. Lanmek's expression was neutral, but Shrap saw anger in his eyes.

Then, the Neimodian looked at Shrap. "A clone?"

"A commando we captured." Said Lanmek. "He gave us valuable information. After a brief torture session, of course."

The Neimodian laughed. It was a hoarse, shrieking laugh that made Shrap cringe.

"Commander, you astound me. You actually keep this sub-human _filth _prisoner? Look at it cringe. I could understand if it was a non-clone conscript or recruit, but you should have just killed this worthless animal as soon as he had given you the information."

"Sir, I thought…" began Lanmek.

"You thought, you thought. Lanmek, you are too kind-hearted. You are mutual with me in the respect that you wish to bring the Republic to it's knees, are you not?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then you have to be ruthless! Learn from Grievous's example. Look at the reputation he has established. We merely have to tell a planet he will attack it for it to surrender. Oh, well. I suppose the creature could be useful. You could use it alongside the Geonosians down in the droid factory, for menial labour."

"Sir, commandos are more human than the average clone. I considered it more humane…"

"They are more human then normal clones, admittedly, but they are still filth. On second thoughts…no, it has no use. If we put it in the droid factory, it might attempt to sabotage it. I want it killed, commander. If it is not dead by tomorrow, I will make sure you are stripped of your rank." And with that Lanmek and the Neimoidian walked off and their voices became inaudible.

Shrap sat there, rooted in shock. If he didn't act, his tedious but acceptable existence would come to an end. With a groan he sat back. He had to escape. But how? The walls of the camp were made of solid dura-concrete. He was weak and tired. Then, his eyes flicked to the AAT, in the same position as it had been when he had first seen it after the torture. Thinking, he then picked up a small, blunt, stone flint on the ground, then picked up a stone and began sharpening the flint…

That evening, the camp was silent. Searchlights flicked across it, and droid snipers stood in the guard towers, their photoreceptors alert for any strange movement. Unfortunately for them, their eyesight was not as sharp as their hearing.

A battle droid stood still by the AAT, occasionally looking across the camp to see if anything was moving. Suddenly, a shadow flicked behind it, and a dark figure emerged from the darkness behind it and stabbed a sharpened stone flint into the head of the droid, wrecking its computerised brain. Scooping up the droid's blaster and throwing the droid to one side, the figure entered the AAT, and the sound of metal being cut came from within.

With a rumble the repulsor tank started to move, and began slowly moving towards the gate. The droid guards stole a glance in its direction, but they considered it to be of no importance.

Rumbling along, the tank paused as the camp gates opened, and then it drove out onto a rugged gravel path snaking down a tree-dotted mountainside. A pair of STAPs heading towards the camp whizzed past it as it continued down the mountainside.

Further down the path was a small gate, which marked a wall that snaked around the mountainside. Two battle droids stood before the gate, and motioned for the tank to stop as it approached. Ignoring them, the tank ran them over and smashed through the gate.

Meanwhile, in a small, office like chamber in the small command post that was the entrance to the droid factory, Dan Lanmek groaned as he swigged another bottle of Corellian beer. His job as commander of the droid factory was starting to become boring and tedious, and since the quickly repulsed Republic attack nothing special had happened. And only a few hours ago, he had informed Count Dooku that a contingent of three _million_ battle droids was ready for deployment, and yet the Count had ordered it to stay. Lanmek knew better than to argue with a Sith, but still, the stores at the factory were literally overflowing with battle droids, and the Geonosian engineers had warned that if they did not evict the droids soon then they would have to postpone production.

Suddenly, the door to the office slid open and a battle droid corporal stepped in. Lanmek groaned; the aspect of having to have a conversation with these dumb things made him want to knock himself unconscious. He envied the Republic; at least clones could have a decent conversation with you.

"What?" he moaned.

"Sir. A prisoner has escaped from camp 2. He has stolen an attack tank, and is currently proceeding down the mountainside. We have gunships standing by."

That could only be the clone. Lanmek considered. He could follow protocol and have him eliminated. But he had a respect for the clone. He now doubted the Separatist propaganda that said that all clones were mindless drones, little better than battle droids. Eventually, he decided. He'd let the poor man go. The clone would surely abandon the tank at some point to avoid detection and escape into the forest. Then he could tell the Neimoidian executive that he had been executed and the body disposed of without having to go through all the stress of an execution. Yes, that would be the best decision.

"Do nothing. Have Vulture droids observe him from the air, but do nothing else. I repeat, do not attack him unless absolutely necessary."

"Roger, sir." Barked the droid. And it walked off. Sighing, Lanmek took another swig of beer. He hoped that'd be the last he'd hear of Shrap the clone.

Two months had passed since Shrap had escaped; five months on this planet altogether. On the night of his escape, he had easily rammed through a few outposts with the stolen tank. A few Vultures seemed to be following him, so once he reached the forest he abandoned the tank and fled into the trees. Now, he had established a rudimentary, primitive lifestyle in the woods, using all the survival instincts those old Mandolorian instructors had taught him in training. He now had a substantial beard and his face was quite hairy; occasionally he had tried to shave with the odd piece of flint, but that had only resulted in cuts and pain. He had lived on berries and had hunted animals, and had made a shelter in a cave that he had found. He was surprised that Lanmek had not bothered to hunt him down. But now he was convinced that Lanmek had a respect for him.

One day, two months since the escape, when he was out hunting for food, salvation arrived. He heard a familiar humming sound. At first he thought it was just a STAP or gunship patrol. But then he saw a LAAT swoop overhead. Then another one. The another. Squadrons of them. Then suddenly a huge shadow was cast over the forest as a _Venator-_class Star Destroyer came overhead, deploying gunships and starfighters and bombarding the factory area with laser fire. Immediately, Shrap headed towards it. He could not have been more overjoyed. Finally, he was certain that he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life on this godforsaken place.

After some hours of making his way through the tangled forest, he finally arrived in a large plain where the Star Destroyer had landed. Walkers, tanks and assault vehicles were everywhere, as were clones. Hundreds of fellow clones, brothers. Most appeared to be wearing a different armour, but clones were clones. Yelling in joy, he ran out onto the plain towards a small cluster of equipment, where a clone commander—and a _Jedi_—were standing. He was saved.

Running towards the command post, he noticed hundreds of helmeted, faceless faces turning towards him. Despite his beard and considerable increase in facial hair, they still recognised him. Some waved. Some sent greetings.

Shrap arrived at the command post, breathless. The commander and Jedi looked on at him as he caught his breath. The Jedi was a middle-aged, handsome human, wearing a more practical version of standard Jedi robes. He reminded Shrap of the Jedi swordsman Cin Dralling, save that he was younger.

"Clone Commando RC-14566, Shrap, sir." Wheezed Shrap.

"Commander Haig." Said the commander. "We had reports that you were alive and were being held prisoner."  
"I escaped."

The sounds of battle came from somewhere not too far off, and Haig turned in that direction. "We're doing considerably better than last time." He said. "We've taken out their hangars, and I've heard we've captured their commander. They seem to have put the main droid army away."

"Don't kill the commander." Said Shrap. "He was better than I first thought." There was a brief silence, and then the Jedi said:

"I am master Faij. I feel…sadness…longing in you. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Some of the communications equipment was beeping. Shrap automatically walked up to it. It appeared, according to the readout, that a signal previously jammed by EMC jamming had got through. As Haig spoke with Master Faij behind him, Shrap heard the message. It was a croaky, raspy voice that he didn't recognise, but he heard the message:

"Execute order…66."

Shrap responded automatically. He didn't have a weapon, so he did the next best thing:

"Brothers! Execute Order 66!"

Faij looked confused. "What is…"

Haig drew his blaster. Some nearby clones drew their weapons. Shrap grabbed a pistol from a nearby weapons rack. Then all of them at once fired. Faij was blown down and his torso vaporised. Shrap, surprisingly, felt no sorrow. He had never thought much of Jedi anyway.

A clone then came up to Haig. "Sir, we managed to catch the Separatist commander. Unfortunately, he killed himself before we could take him into custody. Before he did, though, he asked us to pass his farewells to someone called Shrap." Shrap felt a pain in his heart. He then shook it off. He was a clone. He wasn't expected to form bonds with anyone but his fellows.

"Well then, brother." Said the commander. "It's all right. You're going home now."


End file.
